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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26759593">There's a skip in my step, a pip in my pep</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fvartoxin/pseuds/fvartoxin'>fvartoxin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Holy Musical B@man - Team StarKid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Disabled Character, I am not kidding, Other, This Scarecrow may very well have sterilized himself but who knows!, This is the longest thing I've written in like 4 or 5 years, more main AU junk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:21:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,026</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26759593</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fvartoxin/pseuds/fvartoxin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I just wanted my Flaming Hot Cheetos, and this is how the universe repays me.”</p><p>Edward Nygma has a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jonathan Crane &amp; Edward Nygma, Scarecrow/Sweet Tooth, Sweet Tooth &amp; Mr. Freeze</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>There's a skip in my step, a pip in my pep</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Getting my mojo back! I am excited. Honestly I had this idea rattling around my brain for a few months, I just didn't think anything would come of it. I was wrong, evidently. I have also well surpassed my previous drabble length record of 1.5K. This ended up being a bit clipped due to the fact I was worried about file size.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Currently, he was taking a semi-leisurely stroll through the halls of the previously-abandoned warehouse the Rogues had come to call their (admittedly, communal) hideout, white sneakers making sharp taps as they made contact with the tile. Damn, they really needed soundproofing. It was enough to give the more sensitive of their ragtag crew a migraine.</p><p>Granted, he personally hadn’t been dealt a poor hand by genetics, but if he cared enough he’d surely bet money on <i>Eddie</i> complaining. At best, the Riddler was prissy as they came. At worst…</p><p>Wait. Hold on. Was…? <i>What the actual fuck?</i>  </p><p>Jonathan slowed in his steps, then stopped. Then reversed until he’d come back to the vending machine he’d passed not 5 minutes before. </p><p>And there was Edward Nygma himself, in all his glory. Sprawled on the floor, the chartreuse lapels of his suit jacket in complete disarray. With the majority of his right arm shoved into the fucking pickup slot of the thing, weakly trying to grasp a fun-sized bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos. “If I’m being honest, Jon,” the shorter man began, attempting to affect an air of dignity as he spoke; despite the precarious situation he was in, “I thought your walking right by me was a deliberate decision. Distracted? I won’t tell anyone; my lips are sealed. I.” He frowned. “Actually, I don’t think I can get out of this predicament by myself; not without dislocating my shoulder, at least.” </p><p>“No,” he confirmed, and his brows furrowed as he folded his arms over his chest. “Even if I was, I’m really not sure why I’d tell <i>you</i>. Half the Rogues Gallery trusts you only as far as they could throw you; and – <i>ha</i> – that isn’t far.” Apart from in the cases of Waylon and Victor, but neither enjoyed the possibility of hurting people. However accidentally. “Oh? The great and vainglorious Riddler, admitting that there exists puzzles he won’t solve? Has Hell frozen over?” A predatory grin overtook his features, and he bit back a peal of laughter. “It seems I’ve missed the memo. If I look outside, will I see Armageddon?” </p><p>“Common sense tells me you wouldn’t help, but still I hoped you wouldn’t just <i>stand there</i> and gawk at me like I'm some kind of zoo animal,” Edward sighed heavily. “It’s not as if I can just go get myself help. Physically, I’m stuck here. And you know damn well I refuse to ruin my vocal cords yelling across the entire complex.” Query and Echo, bless them both, would laugh. As if they didn’t laugh at him enough already… “You have a point with that. Shame that no one here has good taste in company.” The man wore Heelys. Mint green Heelys. With a suit. And tie. </p><p>“<i>Excuse me</i>,” he interjected in mock offense. “Whether or not I help solely depends on you.” His grin grew wider, and there was suddenly a wild light in his blue-ringed eyes. “And I’m fairly sure that you know what any favor from me requires. Also, are we going to point out that the Cat attempted to push you down the stairwell earlier? Visually, you are a laughingstock. In terms of personality, it’s the same.”</p><p>“Spare me the thought of you choking the metaphorical chicken to the sound of my pleas. I wasn’t intending to lose my lunch today,” he moaned, and attempted to shift his position so that he could massage his temples with his free hand. This, however, failed, so he instead propped himself up on his elbow. “Or, preferably, ever. And we both know ‘Lina; she does what she pleases.”</p><p>“You’re the one who thought of it,” he retorted calmly, despite the objective truth of the statement. There was an uncomfortable silence as the two held each other’s gaze. “I’d walk away, but I am enjoying this <i>far</i> too much. Ought to have brought a camera; ahh, wait. <i>I have</i>. Hold on a second, won’t you?” Not that Edward had much of a choice, of course. Fumbling through clothing, he soon produced his phone from a pants pocket, input his passcode, and held it up. “I may be a Luddite when it comes to technology, but all it takes is a few clicks.” </p><p>“<i>To one Dr. Jonathan Mackenzie Crane</i> – fuck you and everything you stand for.” In the holes of his domino mask, his emerald eyes blazed with a potent fury. “You are, quite literally, the worst goddamn person who could have stumbled upon this, and I would not trust you to tie a child’s shoes. <i>Especially</i> if it was your own; though really, you’re so overwhelmingly non-paternal that I wouldn’t be surprised if your gametes simply shriveled and died before they saw the light of day. Or if you’ve chemically castrated yourself, for that matter. Actually,” his head cocked to one side, and he grimaced. “You know, with you working with an ungodly mixture of chemicals all the time, you likely have. Add <i>that</i> to the list of things I didn’t want rattling around my cranium at night. <i>Eugh</i>. Nasty.” </p><p>Jonathan snorted, and for a moment idly wondered if he’d manage the feat of rolling his eyes so hard that his optic nerve simply snapped. He did not put down the phone. “I advise you try harder. Make some point which I’m not already aware of, really reach outside of that box. Although,” here he chuckled warmly, “it’s fitting enough that I haunt your nightmares.”</p><p>“Either shut the Hell up,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “or get me some help.”</p><p>The camera shutter clicked. </p><p>“I just wanted my Flaming Hot Cheetos, and this is how the universe repays me.”</p><p>Another series of clicks. “At this point, Edward, your diet is mostly Cheetos. It’s a miracle that you haven’t developed scurvy yet. That can’t be healthy.” </p><p>“I’m already on my knees. <i>I’m not saying it</i>. Isn’t this enough for you, you fucking sadist?” </p><p>“Ahh, but I wasn’t the one who put you in that position. It doesn’t count.” </p><p>“Were you like this with Silas? <i>God</i>,” he let out a sharp, piercing laugh, “you must have been a nightmare. It’s a miracle he doesn’t hate your guts. I certainly would. Then again,” he mused out loud, tapping his chin with a gloved forefinger. “He’s a semi-recovering alcoholic Borderliner with horrifically severe mood swings and abandonment issues. Probably convinced himself he liked it, the absolute fool. But I can’t <i>really</i> blame him, the half of us are mentally ill around here. <i>You</i>, however, are fucked in the head in an entirely different way.” </p><p>Ever-so-subtly, his jaw tightened. “Romantic partners of mine, former or otherwise, are an exception to my usual rules. I don’t hurt them, and I never will.” Not physically, at the least. “I do have common sense, Eddie; that’s a better way to drive someone away then have them crawling back to you.”</p><p>Edward’s eyes narrowed. “So you’ve implied that if you lacked sense, you would. Wow. I can’t say I’m surprised that one cop attempted to lock you up; heard <i>that</i> through the grapevine. To most, you’re <i>persona non grata numero uno</i>. Why on Earth anyone would see anything in you, I’ve no idea. And yes, I realize this isn’t helping my case any – but it needs to be said, Jonathan. You know it does.”  </p><p>The Scarecrow was about to respond when a haggard, pink-clad figure appeared at the end of the hall. </p><p>“What the fuck are either of you talking about? I was thinking of getting a Vitaminwater, and then I run across,” he gestured aimlessly as he came within arm’s reach, “whatever’s going on here. Strike that, actually, whatever’s going on here is somewhat obvious-“</p><p>“Ahh, the man of the hour!” Edward let out a whoop, which the now largely deaf Gallery leader winced at. “Silas Torrance, as he lives and breathes. I’d tip my hat to you, but I seem to be a little,” he wiggled his stuck arm by an inch or two, “<i>pinned</i>.” </p><p>“I can see that. I have <i>one</i> eye,” the man muttered, dragging a hand down the bare-socketed side of his face as he let out a shaky sigh. “Eddie. You can’t keep doing this. How many fucking times do we have to go over that? You’d think <i>Zero</i> meetings would be enough,” he snarled, dropping a silvery package to the floor on learned instinct, “but no one around here has common sense. Hence the fourth one.”</p><p>“On the bright side, it hasn’t yet been the third time this month,” Jonathan chipped in, raising his voice a smidgen more than usual in order to be heard. </p><p>At this, he jerkily nodded to his ex-boyfriend. “At least,” he echoed, patience running thin. </p><p>“Well,” Edward began, very professionally for someone who currently had his entire lower arm and then some stuck inside of a vending machine. “I was hungry. And I had a few quarters in my pocket. What I’d forgotten, however, is that this specific vending machine hates every atom of my body. I seem to, <i>ha</i>, keep forgetting that.” As it turned out, embarrassment was possible for a narcissist. Rare, but possible indeed. “You see, Silas—” </p><p>“Did you never consider asking Victor to help?” The candyman sounded as though he was speaking to a small child, measured irritation cloaked with concern mingling in his tone. To some extent, the concern was genuine. He wasn’t a bleeding-heart that compartmentalized (heavily, mind you) for no reason. “You know he would. Even if he doesn’t have a strong opinion of you.” </p><p>Jonathan’s grin had settled down into a mere self-satisfied smirk as he watched the scene play out, and he slipped his phone back into his pocket. </p><p>“Of course I did,” the Riddler argued, puffing out his chest in a pitiful attempt to save face. “But I think you know as well as I do that I’d rather save these dulcet tones for something more.” His nose wrinkled. “<i>Dignified</i>, let’s put it that way.</p><p>Silas turned, biting down very hard on the inside of a ruined cheek in order to suppress a string of curses. “Jon,” he rasped through a mouthful of blood. “Would you mind getting Victor for me? I’ll stay here with the Idiot of the Month.” Then he added, quieter, “I might as well do one useful thing this week.”</p><p>He obeyed, and after the briefest of stalemates was back with the Russian. </p><p>Who immediately took one look at Eddie and began <i>thunk</i>ing the glass of his helmet against the closest section of wall. “Ты знаешь, что ты гребаный идиот.” As much as he found swearing undignified, in this case it was permittable. </p><p>Silas laughed for the first time in months, driving the cane in his occupied hand into the tile flooring to prevent himself from keeling over. “I think he knows he’s an idiot, Vic. He just won’t admit it.” </p><p>“Hubris,” Jonathan sighed in agreement, “is a fatal flaw for good reason.” </p><p>For about the next two hours, there was a relative silence as the other doctor among the four got to work, interspersed with muttered complaints from The Riddler. </p><p>“I can’t feel my entire right arm,” Edward stated when all was said and done (and Victor had, blessedly, punched in the coin return and gotten the Cheetos), and gave the limp limb a shake as he stood. </p><p>“You should be thankful I did not have to break anything to extract you,” Victor sniffed, and squinted down at Eddie through his goggles as he tossed the snack into his arms. “We do not have magic as the Justice League does. Bones take time to heal. And while Torrance has Vicodin on him, I do not think he would continually share.”</p><p>“You’re right about that,” the mentioned man grumbled, looking for all the world as if he wanted to sit down and rest. </p><p>“I…Well, I certainly owe you one, Victor. Just don’t ask me to do anything I can’t, hmm? I am but a mortal man.” And with that, he walked away with his prize in hand, whistling a jaunty tune. </p><p>As soon as he was out of sight, Silas groaned, and leaned heavily into Jonathan.</p>
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